


QAF/SPN FIC: Strange and Untrue

by suzvoy



Category: Queer as Folk (US), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Character Death, Child Death, Drama, M/M, Suicide, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-12
Updated: 2008-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzvoy/pseuds/suzvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin knows it's no choice at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Queer as Folk/Supernatural fusion, which means it's set in the SPN universe with QAF characters. No one from SPN makes an appearance (sorry!). Set a few years after the end of QAF. This was originally written and posted before season four of SPN aired, so we don't know anything about angels. I fiddled a bit with some aspects of the SPN universe, but hey - it's an AU ;D
> 
> Thank you to everyone who encouraged me, and shared info that was very useful indeed :D Extra special thanks to my wonderful nel_ani for kicking me and the story into shape. I hate you and love you. *MWA* Also must send thanks to the equally wonderful mabfan for info I couldn't have written this story without.
> 
> I also have to praise the song 'Open Your Eyes' by Snow Patrol. It's been on almost constantly while I was writing this - and man, was writing this an experience! It consumed me. There were tears, frustration, and bouts of throwing myself around the room. *pets muse* I'm not sure what you were on.
> 
> Please heed the warnings.

_Where are the men that I used to sport with?  
What has become of my beautiful town?  
Wolf, my old friend, you don't even know me.  
This must be the end; my house has tumbled down._  
\- David Bromberg

*

NOW

*

Yawning and stretching for a few moments, Justin promptly snuggled back under the covers and realised idly that he was in bed alone. Brian had probably gone into work early and-

Eyes snapping open, Justin threw back the covers and sat up.

He was in some kind of hospital room.

"Fuck!"

No, no, he couldn't have fucking fallen asleep! It couldn't have been-

It couldn't have been.

For all that he'd tried to be calm for Brian, if it'd actually happened...

Pushing the covers aside completely, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed (normal, they looked normal, the way they had when he'd closed his eyes), and was able to stand without a problem. There were two doors; one was open and obviously led out into the corridor. Heading towards the other one, he paused when he felt something tug at his hand and realised he was connected to an IV. Instead of tape there was some kind of film holding it in place, and Justin rubbed at it until it loosened enough and he was able to yank the IV out.

Continuing his walk to the door, he stopped again when he realised there was no handle and no obvious sign of a lock. What the fuck?

Inspecting a key pad to the left of the door, Justin recognised all the numbers and letters but had no idea what access code would open the door - if that was even the function of the key pad. Eventually deciding that no one would try to lock a patient out of their own bathroom - if it actually *was* a bathroom - he hit the ENTER key.

The door swung inward.

It was a bathroom. But more importantly, it had a mirror which Justin was staring into right now.

He hadn't changed. At all. His hair looked like it could use a good wash, and his skin was pale, even for him, but he looked exactly the way he remembered looking at twenty-five.

But then...hadn't she said...?

"Mr...Taylor?"

Spinning around, he saw a woman peering around the edge of the bathroom door. She was clearly a nurse of some kind, although her uniform didn't look much like he remembered a nurse's uniform looking.

"You're awake," she continued, face widening in shock as they made eye contact. "And standing. Were you able to walk over here by yourself?" She still appeared shocked, as if the very idea was unthinkable. "How are you feeling?"

Justin ignored her question and asked one of his own. "How long have I been here?"

Utterly failing to display the confidence and warmth Justin figured all nurses should have, she instead gave him a tremulous smile. "I'll go...get someone," she gestured with her right hand and turned away.

Not waiting to watch her leave, Justin instead turned back to the mirror again - when he heard a noise as if something had just hit the floor. Frowning, he was about to investigate when someone stepped into view of the mirror. A man. For some reason the man's appearance didn't startle him, and Justin stared at the reflection of the person standing behind him.

He looked to be in his fifties, but in pretty good shape for his age. The jeans, shirt and leather jacket he wore looked worn but comfortable; he was wearing a ratty, old dark blue cap, and sporting a healthy looking beard that was a mix of grey and brown hair.

But it was when Justin met and held the man's gaze in the mirror that he knew without a doubt who was standing behind him. Nothing changed the unmistakably familiar way he was looking at Justin.

Apparently, not even time.

It was real. It was *real*.

Nausea rose at the back of his throat and Justin dived for the toilet, body threatening to bring up the entire contents of his stomach.

Only there was nothing in his stomach; hadn't been for a long time. Justin retched uselessly into the toilet bowl until finally, exhausted and with tears rolling down his face, he slumped down next to the toilet and looked up at the man standing in the doorway. He was wearing a familiar fond smirk that Justin recognised even through the beard.

"You always were a princess," Brian said warmly.

*

THEN

*

Justin loved and loathed the drive back to New York with equal measure.

He loved that he always made the journey in his own piece of shit car. It really was a piece of shit and Brian had hated the idea at first - actually, he thought Justin was insane, ranting about safety and travel times, and that with the cost of gas and insurance these days it was easier and cheaper to fly.

Justin had held firm, having long since learned to pick and choose his battles. He'd given in on some things (the cell phone currently resting on his passenger seat, which Brian paid for and technically owned outright. He'd given it to Justin using one of those "I'm getting a new one so you might as well use it," techniques), but enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing he could personally get himself from point A to point B. And he actually enjoyed the drive; it was the only time he actually had the opportunity to take a decent drive, and once Brian got over it he started insisting on giving Justin gas money when he came to visit.

New York wasn't a particularly friendly city for people with cars, but Justin and his friends frequently needed artwork or supplies shipped from one place to another, so they all chipped in to the running costs when they could. Thankfully Justin's boss at work appreciated his ass just enough to let him park it behind the restaurant most days.

What Brian never knew about Justin's collection of parking tickets would never hurt him.

But he also hated the drive home because inevitably he'd spend most of the time moping over the fact that he was leaving Brian behind. Again.

Traffic was light, at least, this time of night. He'd left later than usual because Brian just *had* to fuck him one more time. He'd pay for it tomorrow morning but, as always, he thought as he shifted in his seat, it was worth it.

His good mood dimmed slightly as a few light splatters of drizzle hit his windshield. When it turned to actual rain a few minutes later, Justin sighed and flicked on his wipers, hoping they'd hold out.

He hated this time of year.

*

Justin slept through his alarm the next morning, which was par for the course after a visit to Brian. Summer, the best roommate in the entire world, had coffee waiting on what passed as his bedside table as he woke up from being shaken vigorously.

"Wha-?" he asked, bleary eyed, immediately sitting up.

"Geez!" Summer exclaimed, throwing herself onto his bed. "Brian must've really fucked the shit out of you. You look wiped!"

Okay, so she was a little too interested in his sex life - all the straight women he knew always fell for Brian - but she brought the coffee. Therefore she was good.

Yawning, Justin rubbed one hand over his head as the other reached for the coffee. "I feel wiped," he admitted, deciding it probably would've been better to stay up - sometimes he felt worse after sleeping than if he'd stayed awake.

Savouring the caffeine for a few moments, Justin sighed in resignation when he looked at the time. Time to get moving, or he'd be late for work.

Slipping back into his typical daily routine was easy enough - he'd done it so many times he could do it in his sleep, which was honestly what it felt like that day. By the time his shift ended he'd managed not to yawn in anyone's face, and caught his second wind. At his shared studio space Justin practically pounced on the canvas and hours passed in what felt like minutes. Sometime after dark he began the short journey home, with paint under his nails and colours flashing across his mind. Back at the apartment, he barely had time to go through some bills and send Brian a porn-inspired e-mail before collapsing into bed.

On Tuesday he woke just after 2pm.

"Jesus," he muttered as he looked at the clock, lifting a hand to wipe the sleep out of his eyes before realising there wasn't any. At least he had an evening shift that day, but he'd missed practically a whole day of gallery-hunting. Annoyed at himself, he stumbled into their crappy little shower. Even more annoying was the fact that he still didn't feel like he'd had any sleep - he'd over-slept, which always made him feel like crap.

He got through another day, another shift, but this time there was no second wind. After work, Justin went straight back to the apartment and slept.

Wednesday morning dawned at 10:29am, when Summer shook him vigorously awake and shoved his cell phone into his hand.

"This thing has been ringing *forever*," she complained, wearing only her underwear as she whirled away and walked out of the room.

Being gay had its disadvantages.

Blinking heavily, shaking his head, Justin peered down at his cell.

 _BRIAN  
calling..._

Smiling, he pressed the answer button and closed his eyes, collapsing back against his bed. "Hey," he greeted happily.

Brian's greeting wasn't so warm. "I've been trying to reach you for over thirty fucking minutes."

Justin opened his eyes just so he could roll them. "Sorry, your highness, I slept through it."

"Don't you keep that thing next to the bed?"

When he went to sleep it was always on the bedside table, just in case Brian called for phone sex in the middle of the night. Or he called Brian for phone sex in the middle of the night. Either way, having a phone within reach was kind of vital to their plans. "Sure, I just...didn't hear it, I guess. I haven't been sleeping very well."

There was a pause. "You haven't?" Brian sounded...worried?

"Actually, I've been sleeping too well, really, but I still feel like shit. I don't know," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling, "maybe I've been doing too much and it's catching up with me."

He'd barely finished speaking when Brian started.

"Justin, I need you to do something for me."

He sounded so serious that Justin immediately frowned and sat up. "Anything. You know that."

"Come back to Pittsburgh. Right now. I'm booking you on the next flight home."

What the hell? "Brian?"

"Look, we can argue about it later, just get dressed, grab your ID and go. A car will be there to pick you up in ten minutes."

Confused but quickly pushing the covers back, Justin slipped out of bed and started the daily hunt for clean underwear one-handed. What the fuck was going on? "What about work?"

"Call that guy who covets your ass-"

"Otherwise known as my boss," Justin interrupted, throwing a mostly-clean shirt onto the bed.

"-and tell him there's a family emergency."

Justin froze with a hand full of socks. "Is that true?"

Brian hesitated. "I'm probably just being...fuck, just get here, okay?"

He was dressed and on the sidewalk five minutes before the car arrived.

*

"You look like shit," was the first thing Brian said when he met him at the airport.

Wonderful. "Word of advice?" Justin began dryly as he leant up to hug him. "Don't let that be the first thing you say to the guy you're hoping to fuck in a toilet cubicle in a few minutes." Smiling nonetheless, he pressed a warm kiss against Brian's lips. The flight had felt like it'd taken forever but he was glad to see Brian, whatever the circumstances.

Strong arms held him close for a moment, before Brian stepped away. "No time for that now. Come on." Grabbing Justin's hand, Brian started guiding him out of the airport, striding ahead.

Jogging to keep up with him, Justin knew better than to try to pull free. That didn't mean he wasn't curious as fuck. "Brian, what the fuck is going on?"

Stepping through the automatic doors, Brian paused at the curb, glancing at him. "It's probably just a precautionary measure."

Seconds later a car was pulling up in front of them, and Justin was tugged inside.

Brian refused to tell him where they were going, and the driver obviously knew their destination and it was driving Justin *nuts*. When the car finally stopped and Brian started to get out, Justin pushed past him to see where they were.

They were parked outside a private and very expensive-looking doctor's office.

Something terrible slithered down Justin's spine, and he turned towards Brian quickly, eyes wide. "Brian-"

"I'm fine," Brian assured him softly, and Justin's panic settled. "I..." he paused, then got it over with. "I want him to see you."

Justin's eyes widened again. "Me?"

"You said you haven't been sleeping well," he defended.

"Sure," he agreed, "but you couldn't have known about that before you called this morn-"

"Justin," Brian interrupted firmly. "We'll talk later. Argue later." Holding him by his upper arms, he started walking Justin towards the building. "Doctor first."

He gave in, if only so Brian would stop acting so fucking weird.

"How much is this going to cost?" he asked, taking in the beauty of the building.

"I brought you here," Brian answered, shifting an arm to wrap it around his shoulders, "this is on my dime."

They were seen by a Dr Allen who seemed to know of Brian instead of knowing him personally. When Justin explained how he'd been feeling over the past few days, Dr Allen asked about his lifestyle, his typical sleeping habits, how much he'd been sleeping lately, and how he was feeling generally.

"Apart from being tired all the time, I feel great," Justin said truthfully.

Studying him intently - it was a little disconcerting - Dr Allen eventually nodded. "How are you feeling emotionally?"

Frowning, Justin glanced at Brian. He didn't look happy about the question either, but said nothing.

"Good. I'm not depressed or anything, if that's what you're getting at. I have great friends, and I'm in a really good place with my art right now. I miss Brian a lot," he admitted, smiling when he felt Brian's hand squeeze his knee, "but we're doing okay."

He'd seen depression, seen what it did to people first hand - Daphne's mom had battled it for as long as he'd known her.

Whatever this was, it wasn't depression.

*

They left the doctor's office with a huge bill and a referral to a shrink.

"Your doctor sucks," Justin declared grumpily, idling on the sidewalk.

"He's not my doctor," Brian retorted, lighting up a cigarette next to him, "but I'd have to agree."

"Then why did we go to see him?"

Blowing out a smoke-laden breath, Brian offered the cigarette to Justin. He passed.

"His wife's a client," Brian shrugged. "I knew I could get you in to see him today, but I get the distinct impression he was just humouring the fags."

Justin had felt the same way, but enough with this secrecy bullshit. He stood firm, tipping his chin up. "Tell me what's going on. Now."

Staring at him, Brian nodded before stepping to the edge of the sidewalk and flicking his cigarette away. Within seconds the car pulled up again.

How did he *do* that?

"Let's go back to the loft," Brian suggested, "and then I'll tell you everything."


	2. Chapter 2

_All this  
feels strange and untrue  
And I won't waste a minute  
without you_  
\- Snow Patrol

*

When they eventually got back to the loft, Justin could tell Brian was trying to get out of it. First, he changed out of his suit into his jeans and a wife beater. Then he checked his phone messages. Then he checked his e-mail. He was about to check his reflection in the bathroom mirror when Justin pointed towards the sofa.

"You. Sit. Explain. Now."

He actually did it without complaint, which was more disturbing than anything else previously.

"It's fucking stupid," Brian finally began, and he seemed...not nervous, but cautious.

Justin sat next to him. "Brian, if it's got you worked up enough to fly me home from New York, I doubt it's stupid." He received a look that said Brian wasn't so sure about that, but Justin wasn't about to let that stop him from getting answers. "Well?"

Brian sighed. "I was in Woody's Monday night," which was not how Justin expected this to start at all.

"Okay," he said, frowning.

"That cross dressing fortune teller was there."

Justin thought for a minute. "Mysterious Marilyn?"

Brian sighed again, obviously agitated. "I told you this was fucking stupid."

Strangling him really wouldn't do any good right now, as pleasant a thought as it seemed. "Stop saying that - go on."

He did, reluctantly. "I just brushed by her and she freaked the fuck out. Grabbed my arm. And told me to get you to a doctor."

Oookay. That was kind of freaky. "She actually said that? 'Get Justin to a doctor'?"

"I asked her what the fuck she was drivelling about," Brian explained further, "and she told me to fuck off. And then she told me to stop being a dick and to get my boyfriend to a doctor. Soon."

Justin sat there silently for a few moments. The ravings of a fortune teller wasn't anything either one of them put much faith in, but...wasn't it better safe than sorry? "You know," he began uneasily, "Emmett swears she knew his new boyfriend was coming to town before he even got here. That she set them up."

Brian shifted, but didn't respond directly - just continued his story. "I did nothing, of course. And then last night I stopped at the diner-"

"And she was there again. And said the same thing."

Brian nodded. "I called this morning and you were feeling like shit."

And he'd freaked out.

Biting his lower lip, Justin sunk into the back of the sofa. "Maybe we should go and see her." It felt weird even as he said it. This was ridiculous, wasn't it? Who genuinely got worried because a fortune teller was implying that something bad was going to happen? Wasn't that like their job?

Standing up, Brian headed towards his computer. "I need to do something."

Bouncing up to his feet, Justin took off after him. "Wait," he said, grabbing Brian's hand, making him stop. When Brian looked at him, Justin started tugging him back towards the sofa. "In a minute. A few minutes won't make a difference." Falling back onto the sofa, he pulled Brian down with him. "Sit with me a while."

Brian grumbled and groaned, but put up no further complaint.

Once they were comfortable Justin stared off to one side, thinking. Even if he dismissed what Marilyn had said, he definitely wasn't feeling like his usual self. If there was the slightest possibility that something was wrong... "If this is something serious-"

"It isn't," Brian interrupted, as if his saying it would make it come true. Typical Brian.

"But if it is - and don't interrupt me again," Justin warned. "Just listen." He waited, and Brian said nothing. Good. "I don't want you getting all obsessive. I don't want you burying yourself in your work." He knew what Brian was like. "Do something constructive, okay?"

Shifting, Brian pulled him closer. "Look...even if what Marilyn implied is true - which I still highly doubt, by the way - don't worry about it. We'll find a way to beat it. It's what we do." Pausing, he brushed a kiss against the side of Justin's head. "Cancer. New York. Your...head injury. Nothing can beat us when we're together, remember? Life wouldn't fucking dare."

Smiling, Justin gently bumped his head against Brian's. He knew what was really being said. "I'd do anything for you, too," he murmured softly. Turning further towards him, Justin wrapped an arm around Brian and sleepily snuggled up closer, closing his eyes.

Fucking anything.

*

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in an unfamiliar room on an unfamiliar bed, facing an unfamiliar window. A man was standing in front of it, his back to Justin, but Justin would recognise the shape of that body anywhere.

"Justin!"

But it wasn't Brian who'd spoken, and Justin turned his head to see mom rushing towards him.

"Sweetheart!"

Justin put up with it because clearly *something* big had happened. He had enough sense now to know that he was in a hospital, and he really fucking hoped it was nothing serious. Mom kept shooting questions at him, none of which he answered, before composing herself and looking at Brian. "I'll give you two a moment," she touched Justin's head before stepping away, "and go get the doctor."

Brian was standing next to the bed by now. He looked as bad as Justin felt.

"What happened?"

Brian sat in an uncomfortable looking chair, and gave it to him straight. "You've been out for three days." Three days? Three entire days? "You fell asleep in the loft and...wouldn't wake up." Brian looked away. "Nothing would wake you up. I called 911. You've been here ever since."

Licking his lips, Justin didn't want to know but knew he needed to ask. "What's wrong with me?"

Lifting his head back up, Brian met his gaze. "They don't know."

"Of course they don't," a new voice said from the doorway, and they both looked towards it. "The medical profession knows jack-shit about what you're going through. Luckily, you have me!" Marilyn declared.

Pausing, she looked at them, then down at her watch, then back at Brian and Justin again.

"Frankly," she continued, "I was hoping for more of a reaction. I thought my timing was perfect!"

Her timing was actually a little off. They couldn't talk to her at that specific moment because Mom returned with a doctor - apparently he was 'a very interesting case' - and Justin was told that he'd had blood tests and scans and MRIs.

And that there was nothing wrong with him.

"Actually, Mr Taylor," Dr Maxwell told him, "the only thing we have been able to determine is that you're suffering from sleep deprivation." He paused as Justin took the news in. "Which is plainly not the case."

"So..." This made no sense at all. "I'm sleeping, but my body doesn't think I am?"

"So it would seem," Dr Maxwell nodded. "Now, there are a few, rare medical conditions that run along these lines but you show none of the markers for them in your blood stream, or any of your scans. To be honest, I've never seen anything quite like it before." He sounded a little too excited at the prospect. "Your partner here and I have made some calls, and I've started consulting with doctors who specialise in sleep disorders. We may have to move you to a specialist facility if this keeps happening - with your permission, of course."

Christ, he felt exhausted and they wanted him to make a decision? "Umm." Okay, first order of business: get Dr Maxwell out of the room. Second order of business: find out what Marilyn knew, because this just wasn't making any sense. "Can I speak to Brian privately, please?"

Dr Maxwell deflated a little, but did as was asked. "Of course."

Once he was gone, Justin nodded at his mother. "Mom - would you mind?"

"Sure, honey." Leaning close, she pressed an anxious kiss to his head. "I love you," she said as she stepped back, smiling brightly.

"I love you, too," he smiled. "Would you mind sending Marilyn in on the way out?"

Pausing, she looked between the two of them, clearly wanting to know what was going on. "That's the...lady...waiting outside?"

Justin smiled again. "Yeah."

"All right." With a decisive nod towards Brian, Mom marched out of the room.

As expected, Marilyn walked in a few moments later. She closed the door behind her.

Looking up at Brian, Justin took his hand and nodded.

"What do you know?" Brian asked.

Sighing, Marilyn placed her heavy-looking purse on the end of Justin's bed. "Okay," she began, gesturing with her hands, "what you want to know first: there's nothing they can do. There's nothing anyone can do. This is going to happen whether you like it or not, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it."

Brian's hand tightened painfully around Justin's.

Justin could only stare at her in horror. "I'm going to *die*?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Marilyn replied, shocked at the very idea. "Of course you're not going to die."

Justin slumped further into his pillows. Jesus.

"You're just...going to fall asleep," Marilyn continued. What the fuck?

"Fall asleep?" Brian asked, sounding just as confused.

She nodded, then shrugged. "For twenty years."

It wasn't often Justin had the experience of seeing Brian looking utterly and completely shocked - but he couldn't appreciate it now because he was feeling much the same way.

"Okay," Brian began, "enough with the small pieces of information. Tell us what the fuck you're talking about, and tell us every last fucking detail."

Harrumphing, Marilyn pulled a chair over from the far corner of the room, sat down, ignored Brian, and talked directly to Justin. Directly and sincerely. "This is going to be hard to take in but we have limited time, so I'm just going to tell you how it is, okay?"

Justin pressed his lips together, bracing himself. "Okay."

"Vampires are real," Marilyn said, making him blink. "Werewolves, too. Demons. In fact, pretty much every horror creature you've ever heard of exists in one form or another. One of these demons has control of you."

"What the *fuck*," Brian said, obviously stunned, "are you talking about? Horror stories?"

Marilyn ignored him, and kept talking to Justin. "It's not possessing you, but it is using you. It's...stealing your sleep, basically. It's what it feeds on."

As unbelievable as it was, given the sincerity and conviction she was talking with, Justin knew she was telling the truth. At least as she knew it. "There's no way of stopping it?"

She shook her head. "Some demons you can summon. Some you can kill. Some you can cut a deal with. You can't do any of that with the demon that has you. You can't see it. You can't feel it. It may not have happened for a while," she continued, "but this has happened before. And no one has ever found a way to stop it."

Brian sat down heavily in his chair.

Tipping his head down, Justin stared at their joined hands. Held on to something real. "Keep going."

"Not all demons are made the same," she told him, "there are different levels of intelligence and development - just like us, I guess. The one that has you is...pretty simple, really. As far as we can tell it runs mostly on instinct. For whatever reason there was something about you it was drawn to."

Of course there was. "Even the demons want my ass," he joked weakly.

Marilyn smiled sadly as Brian squeezed his hand again.

"Frankly, I don't know why the demon stops after twenty years or doesn't kill its victim when it's done with it - maybe it thinks it's crueller to let them try to make a life after missing twenty years of it," she shrugged. "But my advice to you? Get your affairs in order while you still can. You were out for about three days this time, right?" Justin nodded. "It's getting used to feeding off you. More than likely the next time you fall asleep, you'll stay asleep, and I'd be willing to bet you only have a few hours before that happens. You may not die, but you're going to be out of commission for twenty years. Decide who you want looking after you, and do it fast."

She'd been right. It was hard to take in.

Twenty years?

He was supposed to believe this? He was supposed to believe this enough to actually start making plans for his twenty-year slumber?

"On the plus side," Marilyn told him cheerily, clearly trying to make him smile, "you won't age."

Huh. "I won't age?"

"Nope. I don't know if it's a side-effect of the feeding process, or if it's another way of messing with its victims, but you'll look as baby-ass beautiful at forty-five as you do at twenty-five."

"Let's just say," Brian interrupted, quietly but firmly, "that I believe any of this ridiculous fucking story for even a millisecond."

"Okay," Marilyn finally looked at him, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. "Let's say that."

"Why tell me to take him to a doctor in the first place if they couldn't fucking do anything about it?"

"Because you wouldn't believe it," Marilyn replied immediately. "You're still not sure you believe it, but at least you know now that they don't know what it is or how to treat it. The human mind has to go through the steps it knows before being able to accept what's *really* happening."

Biting his lip, Justin looked up at Brian. She had a good point - if she'd just come to them cold, they probably would've been even less likely to believe her.

But even now it was still fucking unbelievable.

"Then why the fuck didn't you come to us sooner?" Brian demanded, "when we might've been able to do something-"

"There are a number of problems with your supposition," Marilyn cut him off, clearly not impressed or scared by his attitude. "The first one being that there *is* nothing you can do. Like I said, there's something that drew the demon to him. Even if he'd known since birth that this thing was coming for him, it still couldn't have been stopped - once it has your scent, so to speak, it won't stop until it has you. But the main problem with your supposition? I didn't know earlier. I don't control my gift, He does," she said, nodding towards the ceiling. "And not even He bows down to you. Sometimes I see a few seconds, sometimes I see years, and what I see can come to me at any time. For example, I have no idea what's going to happen to Justin when he wakes up, but I know what you're going to do when he falls asleep."

"What do you mean?" Justin asked, turning his head to look at Brian. His jaw was clenching.

This time Marilyn ignored him, focusing exclusively on Brian. "Oh, I'll give you advice. I'll tell you not to. But you'll ignore me because you know better. You always know better. And you'll do it anyway."

"Do *what*?" Justin demanded, frustrated.

Releasing Justin's hand, Brian stood up and glared at Marilyn before walking around the bed and heading towards the door.

"Brian!" Justin called, and Brian paused with the door pulled open, head turned to one side.

"This is bullshit," Brian spat, and walked out of the room.

His huge drama queen moment was mitigated by the fact that he slinked back into the room less than a minute after Marilyn left. Before her departure she'd tried to give Justin what were no doubt meant to be comforting words, but they didn't really work because he couldn't even decide if he needed comforting or not. How was he actually supposed to believe the story she'd spun?

Still, right then, there were others things to attend to. Like fixing his pissiest gaze on Brian as he lurked in the doorway. Arms folded across his chest, Justin watched from his hospital bed, eyebrows raised, as Brian made his way back to the chair.

"So," Brian began casually, as if he hadn't just had a huge drama queen moment, "what do you want your next move to be?"

Sighing, Justin gave in and un-crossed his arms. There were only so many choices he had. "Those specialists Dr Maxwell consulted with..."

"Yeah?"

"They don't know what it is either, right? I mean, he's told them about my symptoms, and that there's nothing in my blood or anything showing up in any of the results of the scans I've had - and they have no clue either, right?"

Slowly sitting down, Brian held his gaze and nodded. "No one has any fucking idea, Sunshine."

It pained him to say it, that much was obvious, but Justin knew he could count on Brian to tell him the facts. "But it doesn't seem to be life-threatening - or at least not any time soon."

"Apparently not," Brian agreed.

"Okay." Justin knew what he wanted to do.

Mom thought it was a bad idea. Dr Maxwell thought it was a bad idea.

Brian thought it was a bad idea until Justin spoke to him quietly while Mom and Dr Maxwell were talking intensely outside the hospital room.

"Look," Justin explained, "I know you're worried about me, and the normal thing to do when someone is sick is stick them in a hospital - but that's so they can be treated. Everyone's said it - no one knows what's wrong with me. Hell, according to all the test results there *is* nothing wrong with me. There is no treatment for me, or at least not at the moment."

"Justin-"

He reached for Brian's hand. "I spent too many weeks in here after the bashing, Brian," he said seriously. "Endless weeks sleeping, recovering, doing my PT." More often than not, he'd been bored out of his fucking mind. "I'll come back here or to a specialist centre for any further tests they want to run, but I'm not just going to lie here, okay?"

Eventually, Brian nodded his understanding.

Justin checked himself out of hospital. He had to assure Mom about a hundred times that he was fine, and that he was an adult, and that he was absolutely sure about his decision.

And there was the thought, somewhere at the back of his mind - what *if* Marilyn was right? The reason he'd given Brian was perfectly valid, but if there was any truth at all to Marilyn's story...could he really afford to waste any time he was awake?

He realised he probably shouldn't think that way, probably shouldn't give credence to a ridiculous fairy tale - but when he yawned as he was getting changed and Brian froze still, staring at him, he knew he wasn't the only one considering the possibility.

What if it *was* true?

A car met them at the hospital, and Justin shook his head as he settled into the back. "Have you forgotten how to drive?" He knew Kinnetik was doing well enough that Brian was earning a small fortune, but he'd still always preferred to do his own driving. Until now, apparently.

"Wanted to keep my hands free for other things," he smirked as the car pulled away, and tugged Justin closer.

Who promptly yawned.

They stared at each other.

Brian blinked, and spoke to the driver. "Take us to the nearest supply of coffee. Now."

One extremely large drink of caffeine later, Justin didn't feel any better. In fact, he was feeling even sleepier, having to frequently jerk his head up when it started drooping.

Fuck.

He whispered the thought that neither one of them had been voicing.

"What if she was right?"

Brian sat forward angrily. "Take us back to the hospital!"

But...no, if she was right...and fuck, even if she wasn't... "Brian. No."

Next to him again, he still seemed angry. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Justin slumped towards him. "Things to do. Not hospital. Please."

Pressing his lips together, face strained, Brian eventually gave in. "Where to?"

Clearing his throat, Justin's fingers dug into the material of Brian's jacket. "Lawyer."

On the way they stopped for more caffeine and energy drinks, but Justin's sleepiness got even worse.

"Fuck," he whispered in the back of the car, "*fuck*." His throat hurt from trying to keep back tears. Was this really happening? How could this actually be happening? And so fucking *fast*?

Pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of his head, Brian barked an order at the driver.

"Faster!"

Brian's lawyer wasn't happy with the short notice, but perked up at the promise of an enormous fucking bonus for getting the papers drawn up ASAP. In the end they had to spend hours at the lawyer’s office, waiting and signing papers, then waiting and signing even more papers. It wasn't how Justin would've preferred to spend his time, but he knew it had to be done. Had to take care of it now.

Just in case.

"That's it," the lawyer said eventually. He'd been eyeing Justin warily the entire time, probably worried he was on the verge of dying or something. Justin had assured him more than once that he was of sound mind.

"That's it?" Justin confirmed. "Don't need another...another sig..."

"Signature," Brian finished quietly.

Right. "Nothing else from me? At all?"

"No, Mr Taylor. Once I get these filed, if you're incapacitated for any length of time, Mr Kinney will have complete medical Power of Attorney, and will also legally be able to manage pretty much anything and everything you own, including your bank accounts."

Thank fuck. Being able to keep his eyes open was turning into a real bitch - it'd taken nearly all of his willpower to get this far. "Brian?" he turned his head woozily, leaning against Brian's shoulder. "Home."

*

He couldn't even make it out of the car. The driver offered to help but Brian told him to fuck off and carried Justin into the building himself. If he'd been more coherent Justin would've been embarrassed about it, but he really only knew that it was *Brian* and it was *good*.

A hand slapped his face. "Hey!"

Blinking widely, Justin slowly realised that he was on top of the bed and Brian was kneeling next to him. "Hey."

Brian pressed his lips together. "You want another energy drink?"

"Is not working..." Justin slurred, "just likes she said. Nothing's gonna stop. It."

Sliding closer, Brian put his arms around him. "This can't be real. This cannot be fucking real." Brian's voice was full of disbelief - pure, absolute, shock. And Justin wished now that he'd never wanted to see or hear it.

"Hey," he said, because he had something to say and it was...something he had to say. Yeah. "What I...said. Sofa. Don't obsess. Don't work too...much. Try...be happy?"

Brian stared down with dark, dark eyes. Sad. "You should've been here. You should've always been here."

Justin wasn't sure, but...understood? Maybe? "Was coming back. Always. To you." Pain. Head. "Hurts."

Closer, Brian...lips...good...

"Close your eyes, Sleeping Beauty."

Good. But. "Always...girl..."

Tired.

So.

Tired.

"You watch, Sunshine. You'll prove her wrong. You'll be out for a few hours, tops, and my cock and I will be here when you wake-"


	3. Chapter 3

_"Sunshine, how did I ever get along without you?"  
"You didn't."_  
\- Queer as Folk

*

NOW

*

Stepping away from the door for a few seconds, Brian returned with a small bag. "Put these on," he ordered, throwing the bag at Justin's feet.

Wiping at his face, Justin numbly zipped open the bag and peered inside. Clothes, shoes. Snacks? "Where are we going?"

"Someplace that isn't here," Brian replied, distracted by something as he looked to one side of the room and stepped away again.

Taking a few fortifying breaths - how the *fuck* was this happening? - Justin kept hold of the bag as he got to his feet, and stepped out of the bathroom.

He froze still when he saw the nurse lying on the floor.

"She's alive," Brian explained, throwing Justin a glance from where he'd taken a position near the other door. He must've closed it on his way in, and now he was watching the corridor through the small window built into the door.

Continuing forward, Justin dumped the contents of the bag on the bed and started getting undressed - a process that didn't take long considering he was wearing only a hospital gown. "Was it necessary to do that to her?"

"Yes." It was clear that was *all* Brian was going to say.

Apparently some things never fucking changed. "Why?" Justin demanded, as he pulled on a well-fitting pair of jeans. He apparently really had been out for twenty years. He needed information.

"They're already interested in you," Brian replied, barely taking his gaze away from the window. "You're the boy who didn't appear to age. The boy who's been sleeping since 2009. Doctors and so-called experts have been drooling over you for years. Do you have any idea how many papers have been written about you?"

Realisation began to sink in as Justin pulled on the shirt. "If she'd told them I'd woken up...and I was able to walk around as if I'd been asleep for twenty minutes instead of twenty years..." No muscle wasting. Nothing wrong at all.

"We need to get you out of here before anyone knows you're awake," Brian nodded.

Jamming his feet into a pair of sneakers, Justin wrinkled his nose in distaste at the black cap still sitting in the bag, but pulled it out and placed it firmly on his head anyway. This whole situation was fucked up and unbelievable, but Brian had been around for the past twenty years and he hadn't. Shoving the snacks back into the bag, he zipped it up and threw it over his shoulder. "Ready." To do what, he had no idea. But he was ready.

Tipping his head to one side, Brian held up a finger silently, clearly telling him to wait. Something was wrong. When he shifted so his back was flat against the wall, he gestured for Justin to do the same on the other side of door. Too aware of the sound of his own breathing, Justin listened for other noises and could just hear the faint sound of someone walking along the corridor. Movement caught his eye, and he turned his head further to see Brian lifting the side of his jacket.

He took a gun out of the chest holster he was wearing.

Justin's mouth fell open. "Why the fuck are you carrying a *gun*?" he hissed.

Brian said nothing, giving him a sharp look. Silence.

When the footsteps finally faded, Brian relaxed and stepped away from the wall. Staring down at the gun, he then stared at Justin. "It's been a long twenty years."

Which told Justin absolutely fuck-all, but wasn't that the way Brian always had been? He'd get answers - he always did. It'd just take a while.

Getting out of the hospital turned out to be no problem at all, although as Brian silently led them through the corridors, Justin began to realise it wasn't actually a hospital - more like some kind of long-term care facility. It also became obvious that Brian knew the building and its staff very well, knowing when and where to stop, when to wait, and when to slip through a side exit, remaining unseen the entire time.

Justin didn't recognise the building at all - it'd probably been built after he'd fallen asleep.

Brian guided them out of the building, through the parking lot, across the street, behind a building, and down four blocks. Justin kept up with him, but at the same time he was trying to take everything in. This was definitely still Pittsburgh and things were the same and yet...different. Rationally, Justin knew twenty years wasn't really a huge amount of time - but it felt like it was when you blinked and missed it.

Finally, they stopped in the middle of a supermarket parking lot. Next to a pickup truck.

A pickup truck?

Brian either saw the look or just felt the need to explain. "Needed something more reliable," he explained, and the doors seemed to unlock entirely by themselves. The truck had clearly seen better days, but mostly it looked like it just needed a good wash. Still, as Justin slid into the passenger seat, he could tell just from the dashboard layout that the truck had been made after he'd...blinked. It was just different enough from what he was used to seeing.

"Seat belt," Brian ordered brusquely as he clipped in his own. There was so much that was different, Justin couldn't help but think as he put his seat belt on. Not just around them, but...Brian. What had happened over the past twenty years that Brian would need to carry a gun? Drive a pickup truck? Wear - for him - crappy clothes? It was all so...not Brian. But here he was, doing it all.

What had Justin missed? What had he missed out on?

"Justin."

Turning his head, Justin saw Brian - fifty-seven year old *Brian* - staring at him, and didn't know why until he realised a few tears were running down his face. "I'm fine," he sniffed. "Okay, I'm not," he amended. "It's just...I was just with you, yesterday. I was with you and things were scary but we were together. And now you're fifty-seven, Brian. Fifty fucking seven! For me it's like I fell asleep one night, and when I woke up the next day you were twenty years older. And I don't even know what I think about the age difference, but the entire fucking world has gone on without me. What's happened to the people I knew? The people we knew? My Mom and Molly. Why the fuck do you need to carry a gun, Brian?" Justin's voice broke and finally, fucking finally, Brian touched him for the first time since he'd woken up.

Pulled into Brian's arms, Justin held on tightly because right now he had nothing else in the entire fucking world. "What happened?" he mumbled, face buried into Brian's neck. "What happened to you while I was asleep?"

Brian's right hand tightened almost painfully on Justin's side. "Just that," he whispered.

"Just what?" Justin asked, not comprehending.

Brian simply breathed for a while.

"You were asleep."

*

Brian finally stopped driving when they reached a motel about forty minutes outside Pittsburgh. Justin had spent the entire journey in a silent daze, trying to process everything that'd happened as he'd stuffed his face with the snacks Brian had brought along. Most of the time he'd simply stared at Brian, trying to adjust to the beard and the wrinkles around his eyes. The different demeanour. There'd always been an edge to Brian - presumably due to the abuse he'd suffered in childhood - but it was a far cry from that to actually carrying a gun around and looking like he was very familiar with using it.

For a few seconds, Justin almost wanted to be asleep again - and then he mentally shook himself out of it. He wasn't some weak little wimp who was going to lie down and let life take control of him. He'd been cut a shitty deal, an incredibly shitty deal, but he was awake now, he was still with Brian, and tomorrow he was going to start taking his life back.

Although he didn't particularly like the idea of being passive, given that he'd been on his back for twenty years - and not in a good way - he let Brian take the lead for now. Brian still had twenty years more experience of dealing with this world than he did, so he waited impatiently while Brian got out of the truck to get them a room, and managed not to object when a gun was shoved into his hand.

"You remember how to use one of these?"

The Pink Posse had been good for something, after all. "Yes."

"Good."

Nonetheless, as he waited in the truck he studied the gun as if it was an alien being, trying to understand. This was his life now.

They checked in and got into their room without a problem, Brian bringing a heavy-looking bag he'd had inside a considerably-sized lockbox on the back of the pickup. Once they were inside and the door was locked - with another one of those keypad things - Brian threw the bag onto the bed and unzipped it. Taking out a thick plastic bottle of what looked like salt or sugar, he unscrewed the lid and started pouring the contents across the floor, right across the doorway. Then he started doing the same thing across the small ledge that jutted out from beneath the window.

"Um," Justin began, not exactly his most coherent conversation starter. "What are you doing?"

"Covering all points of entry." Brian stepped away from the window when he finished, and looked around the entire room before moving towards what was presumably the bathroom. Following him, Justin watched as he poured another line of salt in front of the tiny bathroom window. Brian didn't turn around, but must have known he was there. "It stops them."

Opening his mouth to ask who, Justin paused when he realised the answer was obvious. If he'd really been asleep for twenty years, then everything Marilyn had said was probably true. "Are they...it...still after me?" That was all he fucking needed.

"No," Brian assured him. "It's got what it needed from you and moved on to someone else. This is..." he gestured towards the window. "Just in case. Besides, I've pissed a lot of them off over the years."

That didn't come as any kind of surprise, but the implication of it did. "Have you been...dealing with them? Talking with them?"

Staring at him, Brian eventually stretched out his arm and placed the container of salt into Justin's hand. "Not exactly." Placing both hands on Justin's upper arms, he gently pushed him back out of the bathroom. "Don't call anyone. Don't answer the door to anyone. And don't disturb the salt. If *anything* weird happens, make a circle of salt and get inside it, and yell for me. I'm taking a shower."

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Justin dropped the bottle of salt and ran for the bed. Grabbing the bag - which *was* fucking heavy - he managed to turn it over until the contents sprawled onto the bed. It looked like the entire prop department of some cheesy fantasy TV show. Guns of all shapes and sizes. Bullets. Wooden stakes. Bottles of salt and water - holy water? A crucifix. A couple of books that looked really fucking old. A notebook covered with Brian's own diagrams and notes, notes that Justin frantically read that said things like 'undead', 'protection spell', and 'hell hounds'. A rudimentary first aid box.

Breathing a little too quickly to be healthy, Justin backed away from the bed until his back hit the wall. Slowly sliding down, Justin bent his legs at the knees and stared at the pile of evidence on the bed.

This was Brian's life now.

By the time the bathroom door opened and Brian stepped out, Justin's breathing was back to normal but his mood - such as it was - had plummeted.

Brian said nothing about the bottle of salt on the floor, or the fact that his bag had obviously been ransacked. Instead he just stood there silently, wearing only a towel, and let Justin look at him.

And Justin did look. Looked at how he'd changed. As he'd thought before, Brian was in good general condition for his age - but his age was showing. Wrinkles and skin that wasn't as tight as it had been in Brian's relative youth.

Then there was the evidence of his lifestyle now. There was a black tattoo on the left side of his chest, a star - or more accurately, probably a pentagram - surrounded by what looked like flames. Justin had long been familiar with the scars on Brian's body, but now there were newer ones, the most prominent being a large, ugly looking rip down the side of his right thigh. It had healed some but, barring surgery, that was probably the best it was ever going to look.

This was Brian's life now.

"So," Justin said, "my boyfriend has turned into Brian: The Vampire Slayer."

Smirking, Brian picked up the bag and started putting everything back. "They're bitches to kill, by the way. That sunlight and crucifix stuff is bullshit. The only thing that actually works is a stake to the heart."

"Thanks for the tip," Justin muttered, lifting a hand to his head and tugging off the cap. Fucking unbelievable. He couldn't just be *wasting* his life like this. "You can't honestly tell me this is what you want to do with your life." Did it even qualify as living?

"You know I never do anything I don't want to do."

Frustrated, Justin pushed himself up and away from the wall. "Oh, spare me the Brian Kinney Philosophy of Life," he argued, throwing his cap across the room. "Would you seriously rather do *this*, risk your life every fucking day, than be with your friends? Or me?" It wasn't a plea for attention, or acknowledgement of importance. Justin didn't need that anymore - hadn't for a long time. "Wouldn't you rather be hanging out with your son?"

Brian froze, and Justin felt something dark and heavy uncoil in his gut.

No.

"Gus is dead."

*No*.

His stomach rebelled again and, following instinct, he ran for the toilet. But it wasn't really what he needed, and as he fell to his knees in the bathroom he started to sob instead. Shakily sliding to the cold, tiled floor, he stared up at the ceiling and thought of Gus, the night he'd been born, the last time he'd seen him - a hundred moments in between.

Not Gus. Not Gus.

"You were asleep," Brian began, his voice harsh and mangled. Tipping his head to one side, Justin could see Brian sitting on the carpeted floor of the motel room, his bare back against the wall of the bathroom. "You were asleep and you wouldn't wake up. I flew in every expert from across the globe, and they all said the same thing - it wasn't a coma. Your brain waves were normal. Your blood work was normal. There was nothing wrong with you. You were asleep and you wouldn't wake up and there was nothing *wrong* with you." He stopped, his right arm flexing. "Only I knew everything Marilyn had said, everything she'd warned us about. So I started looking for proof. She told me there was nothing I could do, that everything she'd told us before was true - there was no way to wake you up early. Nothing medical was working so I started reading...researching. Had Marilyn put me in contact with demon hunters - and I found the proof I was looking for pretty fucking fast. They all said the same thing - this was one of the demons you could do fuck-all about. Couldn't force it to show itself. Couldn't make a deal with it. Couldn't kill it. They even said we should consider ourselves lucky because it usually wasn't fatal," he continued bitterly, "just stole twenty years of someone's life."

"But you didn't stop there," Justin murmured quietly. He knew Brian too well.

"When you didn't wake up after the first year, I decided that if I couldn't hurt the thing that had you, I'd hurt everything else, instead. The hunters wanted nothing to do with me at first, but...I had money, and this isn't exactly a lucrative career. They trained me. Told me to read a lot. Told me to get the tattoo. Taught me the things to look for - usually weather or news reports. Signs for the kind of activity I wanted to find. And I started hunting."

He remembered something Brian had said earlier. "And pissed a lot of them off."

"The ones I didn't manage to kill, yeah. They..." He stopped. Swallowed heavily. "Gus was ripped to pieces." Justin had to press his lips together firmly to stop himself from sobbing again, blinking heavily.

"I had nothing," Brian continued harshly, "Mel and Linds were never going to forgive me, and I didn't fucking deserve it anyway. My friends weren't going to be safe if I stuck around. I had nothing...except for the new skills I had, and the knowledge that you'd wake up on April 23rd, 2029. Twenty years to the day since you fell asleep."

Brian finally lapsed into silence, his story apparently done. Only how could that cover everything he'd done and felt over the past twenty years? Justin couldn't even begin to fathom the pain Brian'd gone through. Losing Gus...Jesus Christ. Everyone said no parent should ever lose their child, and it was fucking true.

Sniffing - Christ, it felt like he'd cried more in the few hours since he'd woken up than he had in his entire fucking life - Justin unsteadily rose to his knees. "You never used to talk this much," he joked badly.

Turning his head to glance back at him for the first time since he'd started talking, Brian produced a scant smile. "Just getting you up-to-date. Don't worry; from now on I'll be as uncommunicative as always."

Shifting closer to Brian, Justin paused in the threshold between the two rooms and reached out a hand, placing it on Brian's shoulder. Saying nothing, Brian brought his left hand up until it covered Justin's, and squeezed. They continued to say and do nothing, until in a sudden flurry of movement, Justin straddled Brian's lap.

Brian's arms went around him and they clung on to each other, never able to get close enough.

"Twenty years, Sunshine," Brian whispered. "Twenty *fucking* years."

Justin clamped his eyes shut, holding on.

"I lied," Brian admittedly eventually.

"About what?" Justin pulled back to see Brian's face - familiar yet not, half in shadow, half lit by bad bathroom lighting.

"The uncommunicative shit. I learned a long time ago that when you woke up, it was worth turning into a gigantic lesbian because at least you'd fucking be here to hear it."

"Hear what?" he laughed with a sniffly smile.

"You said before that this life couldn't be what I wanted," Brian said. "And you were right. What I want...what I want is to live out the rest of my miserable fucking life with you. And none of that different cities shit. We should be waking up together every morning, fucking every night - or whenever I can fucking get it up," he joked, although Justin figured there was probably some truth to it. "You and me, being huge fucking successes at everything we do."

The silence afterwards was telling.

And Justin knew.

"You're going to leave."

Brian didn't look away, his eyes rimmed with red. "I can't have what happened to Gus happen to you. I won't be able to..." He shook his head, expression determined. "Gus is dead. You were asleep for twenty years. That's *it*, Justin."

It wasn't that he didn't understand Brian's reasoning, but... "Isn't it my choice?"

"It's your choice if you're determined to follow me. But it's my choice to at least try to keep you safe. I won't fucking do anything to risk you. Not after everything."

Justin fully recognised the stubbornness and determination - he'd seen it enough times when Brian was being a drama queen - but it'd never been so intense before, almost a palpable thing. As unbelievable as they were, he could understand the facts of what Brian had been through - but he'd never be able to *know*.

Not that Justin was about to let whatever the hell it was they had now fall apart. If Brian felt so strongly about it that he had to walk away now, okay. Justin would find a way back to him.

He always did.

He managed a smile, blinking his eyes dry. "I haven't had a shower for twenty years. Wanna give me a hand?"

There wasn't room in the shower for two, but Justin stripped silently in front of Brian, kept the shower door open and got water all over the floor. When Justin turned his back towards him Brian massaged shampoo into his hair, but other than that he simply watched from outside the shower, just as silent. Justin could feel Brian's gaze burning into every inch of his skin, and it was the simplest thing in the world to turn off the shower, take Brian's hand, and walk to the bed.

Pushing Brian down to sit on the edge of the bed, Justin straddled his lap but paused when he noticed Brian looking at something behind him. Turning his head, Justin saw them reflected in the mirror on the wall. Age and experience. Youth and beauty.

Brian spoke. "You have no idea how much of a pervert I feel like right now."

Turning back to face him directly, Justin smiled and made the best of it. "Hey, it's not like I'm seventeen. That'd make you a total sicko."

Shaking his head with an obvious fondness, Brian lifted his right hand, splaying it across the side of Justin's face. Breath catching at the expression Brian was wearing, Justin lifted both hands to cup his face. The beard felt strange under his hands, but he didn't want Brian to shave it off - he wanted the burn it would bring, wanted to feel Brian over every inch of him tomorrow, no matter how uncomfortable.

"I'm here," he said quietly, firmly, holding Brian's gaze. "I always find my way back to you."

Justin didn't sleep that night - he wasn't going to miss another second with Brian - and he spent hours cataloguing every millimetre of Brian's body, making the unfamiliar familiar again and learning that age didn't matter at all. He traced every scar with his fingers, asking after each one and listening to Brian's hushed stories. A ghost with a hook for a hand. A demon who could make itself look like anyone. A possessed house, of all things. On and on it went, an endless parade of horrors. The man beneath him had changed so much and so little at the same time. Age and beauty didn't matter to him anymore, but the way he clutched at Justin with such loss and desperation - hard enough to leave bruises - Justin had always known that man was there.

Only now he had lost even more.

When Brian was finally inside him again, the moisture in his eyes said everything he couldn't verbalise.

*

"I was wrong," Brian said hours later, as the clock on the bedside table changed to 5:41. Justin hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from it for the past ten minutes.

"About what?" he asked, stretching and shifting his head to meet Brian's gaze. Every inch of him felt *used* - exactly how he'd wanted it.

The reply was barely audible, but Justin still heard it.

"It's only time."


	4. Chapter 4

_Here in my hometown  
things are not as I knew them.  
How I long to be  
in the place where the axe shaft  
moldered away into dust._  
\- Ki no Tomonori

*

Brian left the next morning.

Before he left, he put his bag back in the truck and retrieved another small bag from the lockbox. Inside the motel room, he went over the contents with Justin.

"Ten thousand cash, ID card, bank card to a bank account with a hefty sum in it - including what used to be in your own account. There's a PIN number on that piece of paper - learn it and then burn it. Cell phone-slash-computer, charged and pre-paid. Social security number, passport, driving licence, car keys-"

"I have a *car*?" Justin interrupted, picking up the keys from the small pile forming on the bed and frowning even more when he recognised the key fob.

Pausing, Brian smirked. "It's parked outside."

Turning and yanking the door open - this one had the option of a handle, at least - Justin ran out into the parking lot. At first he couldn't see what he was looking for, but then at the far end of the parking lot...

"It's my car," he mumbled. "It's really my piece of shit car."

By now Brian had ambled up next to him. "Overhauled a little, upgraded to meet the newer anti-pollution specs, but on the outside...still looks as cheap as it ever did. Takes the two-grade unleaded, by the way."

Eyes prickling, Justin turned and shouldered by him roughly. For a prick who was about to leave, Brian should stop being so fucking *thoughtful*.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Justin picked up the ID card - they were different than they had been - and studied his own picture. And his name.

"So I'm James Brando now, huh?" For a moment he was impressed with everything Brian'd been able to produce, but then he'd had twenty years to prepare for this. Of course he'd had everything ready. He was Brian.

Standing in the open doorway, Brian blocked most of the morning light. "You'll be fine, Sunshine."

"I know I'll be fine," Justin retorted, getting to his feet and stalking towards Brian. "Of course I'll be fine. But fine is just that - *fine*. I don't want to be *fine*. I'm worth more than that. I deserve better than that. So fuck you if you think I'm gonna stand around here crying while you stumble through a goodbye, because goodbye from you is bullshit." Turning back to the bed, he picked up the bag and started jamming everything Brian had brought for him back inside. "I'm not saying goodbye because it never fucking is for us. We always come back together. Nothing changes that - not the bashing or Ethan or New York or fucking demons or twenty fucking years!" Throwing the bag back onto the bed, he whirled around only to discover that Brian wasn't there.

Sprinting out of the room, he paused in disbelief when he saw Brian sitting in his pickup, engine purring quietly, staring at him.

Chickenshit.

Taking a breath, straightening his shoulders, Justin looked at him calmly. No point in freaking out now. Brian was determined to leave either way.

This wasn't the end. Not by a long shot.

So he said the only thing he could:

"Later."

*

Checkout was at 11am. At 10:59 Justin handed over the room key/pass/whatever the fuck it was and walked to the far end of the parking lot. From the outside the car did look pretty much the same, although the lights looked like they'd been replaced. As for the inside, the seats were a lot more comfortable, and the dashboard was covered with the same kind of crap that'd been in Brian's pickup. Just like with the truck it was obvious what pretty much everything was for, but it was still unnerving.

Sighing, he unzipped the bag he'd dumped on the passenger seat and fumbled through it, not really sure what he was looking for. He had to start somewhere, but he wasn't sure what to do first. Finding the cell phone, he pulled it free and studied it much more closely than he had in the motel room. Thinner and lighter than anything that'd been on the market in 2009, it certainly looked impressive. Not entirely sure how to actually open the damn thing, he pressed what he hoped was a button and with a faint whirring noise, the phone unfolded itself to twice its size.

Justin stared at it in shock.

 _"State function request,"_ a computerised female voice said, and he almost dropped the phone.

Well. 2029 it was, after all. And of course Brian would get what was probably the top of the line. "Uh...list contacts," he tried.

The phone whirred for a few more moments, but then a screen lit up.

 _"Audio or visual requirement?"_

That voice was freaking him the fuck out. "Visual only."

The list of contacts popped up on screen, but there were only two of them. The first of them was listed as _Brian - **FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY**._

Ass.

When Justin saw the second name, his breath caught in his throat.

"Call Jennifer."

The sound came out on speakerphone, which was just as well because Justin had no fucking idea where he'd put his ear and which part he'd speak into. The sound of the phone ringing was, at least, reassuringly familiar, but when Mom answered she sounded anxious and rushed.

"Justin?"

Oh, thank God. "Mom." He closed his eyes.

"You're awake," she sobbed, "oh my God, you're awake!"

"Mom,"

"Are you hurt? Where are you? I'm coming to get you. Are you alone? Do you need anything?"

He wanted to be six years old again, cuddled up on his mother's lap, listening to her comforting words about how there were no such things as boogiemen.

But he knew better, now.

"Mom, I...I can't come and see you right now, but I had to let you know that I'm okay."

She sniffled over the phone. "Are you with him?"

Justin stared at the bag Brian had given him. What had she learnt over the last twenty years? "I was, but...he thinks he's no good for me."

Mom muttered something that sounded suspiciously rude. "He was the only one who believed...no, knew. He *knew* you'd wake up. April 23rd, 2029. He told everyone who would listen and most of us didn't. But yesterday...I had to take the chance that he was right, and I was on my way to see you when I got the call - you were awake and missing from your room. And I knew. I knew he'd got you out."

Justin tipped his head back against the headrest. "I can't believe this has happened, Mom. I can't believe anything that's happened. Gus...what Brian's become...missing twenty entire years." How was this his life? Shit. He sighed, knowing there were things he should ask nonetheless. "How's Molly?"

"Divorced," Mom answered. "But otherwise okay."

Shit. Molly got married? And divorced?

Shit, his little sister was thirty-six years old. Jesus Christ.

"This is too fucking weird," he whispered.

"What are you going to do?" she asked anxiously, sounding...old.

"I don't know," Justin replied honestly. "But something. I have to do something."

Mom was definitely still crying. "I...I want to tell you to come and see me, so I can hold you and threaten to never let go again - that's a mother's job, after all. This is the first time I've talked to my baby boy in twenty years," she sobbed again, but Justin forced himself to keep quiet, to let her have her say. "There were so many days when I wasn't sure if this moment would ever come again, but...what happened to you. What you've been through. What Brian's been through. I still don't know if I believe in all those things, but...something happened that's bigger than me needing to see you, and if I know my son," Mom continued proudly, if emotionally, "he's already trying to figure out a way to fix things."

She was right.

*

The first thing he did was drive back into Pittsburgh. He was starving - not eating properly for twenty years would do that to you - and there was only one place he wanted to eat.

Liberty Avenue had changed only vaguely. There was the occasional new building. Shops had closed and others had opened. But for the most part it looked the same. The pride flag was still flown and - most importantly - the diner was still there.

The diner had changed too - but again, only vaguely. New, or reupholstered seats. Different pictures on the walls. But the atmosphere was still buzzing, it was still full of people from every walk of life, and Justin found its familiar presence comforting.

He didn't recognise any of the wait staff, and tried not to think of the different reasons why Debbie wouldn't be there. Seeing him would probably give her a heart attack, anyway.

Managing to grab a chair at the counter, he ordered a burger and fries and wolfed them down as soon as they arrived. He barely tasted them but it didn't matter. Sitting at the counter at that moment, he felt almost normal - a feeling he lost when he took a closer look at the menu and saw how fucking expensive everything was.

"Justin?"

Swivelling in his seat, it didn't take him long to identify the newcomer. Twenty years older and thicker around the waist, it was still him.

He was starting to get used to these surprises.

That, or his brain was so overloaded with new information that it was brushing everything off as inconsequential.

"Ted."

Ted smiled, not looking in the least bit surprised to see him. "Can we talk somewhere privately?"

*

Ted and Blake's house was ten minutes away by car, and neither one of them spoke again until they were safely ensconced inside. Ted looked so paranoid that Justin thought he might even go as far pulling the curtains shut, but in the end he relaxed into a chair in the living room and gestured for Justin to sit on the sofa.

"So," Ted began, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, "this has got to be weird for you."

"You could say that," Justin snorted, examining how his friend had changed. They'd been acquaintances, really, for the first five years they'd known each other, but after Justin had moved to New York they'd started communicating frequently about Brian. Friendship followed.

"Even knowing you were going to wake up," Ted confessed, looking him up and down, "it's still definitely weird for me."

Interesting. "You believed Brian?"

"I've...worked with him," he admitted. "Helped him, from time to time."

Justin sat forward himself. "Worked with him?"

"There was an end of the world-type thing a few years after you went to sleep. He needed more manpower."

Wow. Of all people, Justin had not imagined Ted fighting demons.

But maybe that was doing him a disservice.

"That was the last time I hunted with him, but I still help him out when I can."

Justin thought about it. "Kinnetik."

Ted nodded. "When he first started hunting, he was planning on selling-up outright to get the money. His new career doesn't come with a 401K," he joked. Justin could imagine. "But I convinced him that it made more sense to keep it running, hand it over to me and Cynthia, and produce at least a fairly consistent rate of income. He's not living like he used to - but then he's not bothered about that anymore."

Nodding slowly, Justin sighed and sat back on the sofa.

"Besides," Ted continued, "when his latest bank account gets frozen - as it does from time to time - at least he knows he hasn't lost everything and there'll be new money coming in."

What the fuck? He sat forward again. "Why would his bank account be frozen?"

Ted wore the expression of a man who'd just realised that he'd probably said too much. "Justin...the work he does...he usually gets involved because there's been some kind of death or injury. Sometimes there are unavoidable clashes with some kind of law enforcement agency."

Jesus fucking Christ. Life could stop shitting on Brian any fucking time now. "He's a fugitive?"

Pausing, Ted cleared his throat. "I wouldn't use the word fugitive. He's more a...person of interest."

Standing up, grumbling, Justin paced back and forth before swinging around to face Ted again. "You knew I was going to be in the diner."

"Not exactly," he replied, standing up and spreading his hands. "Brian called me earlier today and told me you'd woken up; that you might visit some old haunts. I may have kept a deliberate eye out for you, but I didn't know for a fact that you were going to be somewhere on Liberty Avenue."

Justin stared, angry at him, even if the anger wasn't really aimed at Ted. "Why did Brian call you - to look out for me? I can take care of myself."

"I know that," Ted said firmly. "So does he. It just...might be a good idea to stay away from the places you used to visit the most. What if someone recognises you?"

"I'll tell them I'm a medical mystery," Justin retorted, "or that I'm my son."

Ted didn't let the attitude faze him - but then he had been dealing with Brian for over twenty-five years. "And then there's the fact that you're missing from a nursing home, and there are people looking for you. People very interested in finding and recovering a medical mystery."

He closed his eyes.

The new ID. The passport. The money. Brian had been telling him to run.

Justin never had been very good at following orders.

Flopping down against the sofa, he slouched back and rubbed his hands over his face.

Fine. Fine, he'd take some time, give himself a little leeway to re-group, and then figure out his next step. Lowering his hands, he looked at Ted again and sighed. "How are the others? When I stopped at the diner and Deb wasn't there..."

"She's okay," Ted assured him, and at least that was some good news. Thank fuck. "Carl...died a few years ago," he said grimly, and Justin felt a flash of sadness. They'd never been close, but he'd been a good guy. "She's had a couple of her own heart attacks, but Michael finally convinced her to quit the diner and now she's up in Canada where she can fuss over her family to her heart's content."

Justin smiled, remembering just how *much* she used to fuss. "Michael and Ben moved up there to be with JR?"

Ted nodded. "Not long after Gus-" He stopped, cold, fixing Justin with a weighty stare. "Do you know about Gus?"

Shit. "Yeah," he whispered.

Swallowing, Ted nodded. "Michael tried, but...Brian was never around anyway, and if there was truth to the idea that being around Brian was dangerous-"

"I understand. Michael had his own child to worry about. I get it." Completely understandable, and terrible at the same time.

The silence held for a while, until Ted shifted. "He's buried here."

Justin stared at him. "Take me to him."

*

Gus' gravestone was well-kept and unsurprisingly elegant, with a few small stones resting on top. Justin read the words forlornly.

 _Gus Peterson-Marcus  
Beloved Son  
September 2, 2000 - June 17, 2012_

Kneeling in the grass, he wiped at his face. "Why was he buried here?"

"He was found here," Ted replied sadly. "Whoever Brian angered...he did a really good job. He was out hunting a lot, but he was still based in Pittsburgh at the time. They took Gus in Canada and...put what was left of him outside the door to Brian's loft."

"Fuck," Justin breathed, closing his eyes and feeling more than one tear run down his face. Ted didn't need to say it. Justin knew Brian had found his own son...like that.

"After what'd happened to him...no one wanted to disturb his body any more than they had to. And Mel wanted him buried right away."

Justin nodded. "How did Mel and Linds cope?"

"It tore them apart," Ted sighed behind him. "You know the way Brian and Melanie always were with each other. Everyone had been ignoring or wilfully denying the things he'd said or done - I don't think they wanted to believe any of that shit was real, despite the inexplicable things that'd happened to you. Who would? But when her own son was killed in a way that..."

Couldn't have been done by human hands. Was impossible to deny. "She blamed him."

"And he blamed himself," Ted agreed. "He was already a mess after...you, but after that? No offence, Justin, but I think it would've been easier if you'd simply died and he'd never started this personal crusade."

Justin didn't take offence. He couldn't. He'd had the thought more than once himself, but life was what it was.

Sniffling, he reached out a hand and placed it on the smooth surface of Gus' gravestone. "Hey, Gus. I know it's been a while, and I know a lot of bad shit has happened. I can't make up for what happened to you or your dad, but I promise that I'll do everything I can to make things better from now on. That's a promise. It was your dad who taught me to never make a promise unless I absolutely meant it - so I absolutely mean it, Gus. Every word." Slowly standing up, he faced Ted and wiped at his face again. "You wouldn't believe how much I've cried since waking up yesterday," he joked, feeling embarrassed.

"I think that's understandable, given the circumstances," Ted assured him with a small smile.

Justin shot him his own faint smile, before deciding he needed to get to work on that promise to Gus. And there was only one thing he could think of.

"Ted, I need a favour."


	5. Chapter 5

_"I'll be back. And you'll come there, we're gonna see each other all the time."  
"You don't know that. Neither do I. Whether we see each other next week, next month, never again - it doesn't matter. It's only time."_  
\- Queer as Folk

*

It didn't take long to track her down. Unsurprisingly, there still weren't many cross dressing fortune tellers residing in Pittsburgh.

Marilyn still lived near Liberty Avenue and when Justin buzzed her apartment, she didn't say anything through the speaker; simply buzzed him up. On his way up the stairs Justin briefly wondered if she'd been expecting someone - and then remembered who he was dealing with.

By the time he reached the third floor she was standing in the doorway to her apartment, and it was clear time hadn't been as kind to her as it'd been to Brian. She'd plainly tried to do what she could - she clearly worked out, the wig was new, and she had enough make-up on her face to plaster a wall - but she was *old* and there was no getting past that now.

As if reading his mind - and who knew? Maybe she actually could - she looked him up and down, before gesturing inside her apartment. "Do you know how many people would kill to look like that after twenty years?"

"They're welcome to it," Justin replied, following her in and glancing around, "I'd rather take twenty years of wrinkles and weight gain." Her apartment was an interesting experience - jammed full of contrasting colours, knick knacks and things Justin couldn't even identify. The door clicked shut behind him, and he turned to face her. Straight to business. "If you knew I was coming, you probably know what I was coming for."

Sighing, expression dropping, she nodded towards the sofa. "Have a seat, sweetheart. I'll be right back."

Justin had barely taken a seat when she came back, sitting next to him and resting a large stack of books on her legs.

Gaze moving over the pile of books - they were all old, some bound in leather, some not - he then fixed Marilyn with a steely glare. "I could read through all those - it'd probably take me days or weeks to find what I'm looking for, but I could do it. But I've already lost twenty *fucking* years," he hissed, remembering Brian's fingers digging desperately into his skin. Gus' grave. None of it was the way it should be. "Tell me what I need to know."

Marilyn didn't sigh, this time. Placing the books on the floor in front of her - grimacing some as she sat back up - she met his gaze just as directly. "I'll tell you exactly what you need to know." Her voice was firm, commanding. "Do you remember what I said about the demon who did this to you?"

"Of course." To him it was only a few days ago.

"It's all true," she said. "You can't reason with it; you can't cut a deal. You can't somehow get it to retroactively undo what it's done. Even if it could understand what you want, it's not within its power to give you those twenty years back."

He hadn't expected that to be possible, anyway. "Okay."

Reaching back to the books, she pulled one out from the middle of the pile. Opening it carefully, she flipped through the pages until she apparently found what she was looking for. Handing the open book over she placed it on Justin's lap, holding his gaze again as she continued to talk firmly. Seriously. "There's only one way to make this better for him, Justin. And it isn't much of a fix."

Swallowing, Justin looked down at the book and began to read.

It didn't take long. And it didn't take any time at all for Justin to know that he had no choice. What he'd thought just a few moments ago, and what he'd said to Gus earlier...maybe that hadn't been true. He'd hoped there might be something that would induce some kind of amnesia, maybe have Brian forget something. But the possibilities of this...

"If I..." The memory of kneeling at Gus' grave flashed through his mind again. "If I do this...Brian and Gus...they'll be okay?"

"There's no way to know," Marilyn told him frankly. "Even I can't see that outcome. But if you ask for the right thing, they'll both be alive. And Brian will never know that any of these things - hunters, demons, spells - are real."

Justin considered what she said. Remembered what she'd said two days ago. "Did you know Gus was going to die?"

"No, sweetheart," she said, with sincerity. "I didn't. I knew Brian would start hunting, but that was all."

Good. That was good. But back to the business at hand. "What if I ask for the wrong thing?"

"Then nothing will change. Or they'll change for the worse. Or," she shrugged, "you won't get the deal in the first place. You only get one chance to ask." She studied him for a few seconds, as if deciding something. "That's what happened to him."

Justin stared at her. There was only one 'him' she could be referring to. "Brian?" He waited while she nodded. "He said he came to see you. But he didn't say anything about..." Lowering his head, he rubbed his hands across the pages of the book.

"He didn't get the deal," she said softly.

Justin wondered at that. "What did he ask for?"

She lifted her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "What do you think he asked for?"

It didn't take much to figure it out. For all his bluster, Brian was the most self-sacrificing man Justin had ever met. "To swap places with me."

Marilyn nodded. "It was the wrong thing to ask for."

Biting his lip, Justin looked back down at the book. He knew Marilyn wasn't going to actually tell him what to ask for, but he knew that to get what he wanted...it was going to take more than asking to swap places.

A lot more.

Clearing his throat, his eyes fixed on the title of the left-hand page.

 _The Crossroads Demon._

*

Fingers clutching the box he was holding tightly between his hands, Justin slowly advanced towards the quiet intersection.

Marilyn had already had everything he needed - barring a photograph of himself, but he had that thanks to the ID Brian had given him. And then he'd driven here, out to what felt like the middle of nowhere, but was actually West Virginia. Marilyn had directed him to this specific crossroad - it was the same one Brian had used.

Reaching the middle of the crossroad, he stood in one spot and turned in a complete circle. No approaching traffic of any kind. No people. Nothing, in fact. It was still light out but dusk was starting to creep in, so Justin got down to work. Placing the box on the ground, he grabbed the light weight shovel he had tucked under his arm - something else that hadn't been around before he'd fallen asleep - and started digging.

The ground was dry and hard to dig into - Justin couldn't imagine that anyone had made a deal here since Brian - but even so, it didn't take long to dig a hole big enough to fit the box. Throwing the shovel to one side, Justin fell to his knees and placed the box in the freshly dug hole, trying not to think about what the fuck he was *doing*, dragging the disturbed earth on top of the box with his hands until the hole was filled up, patting at the small mound of earth and-

"I think you got it, honey."

Freezing for a moment, still on his knees, Justin turned his head to see a woman standing a few feet behind him. She was smirking.

No turning back now.

Staring back at the ground for a few seconds, Justin eventually pushed himself up and brushed his hands off on his jeans. Turning, he studied the woman who hadn't moved an inch since she'd appeared. She was beautiful in a way that made him think that she probably killed and ate her lovers after fucking them.

Did demons even have lovers?

Jesus, what a stupid ass question.

"You're the...Crossroads Demon?" he asked, wishing he didn't sound nervous. He wasn't really scared for himself anymore; this just...it had to work. It really, really had to work. Nothing could go wrong.

She smiled broadly, and when she tipped her head back slightly, her eyes turned black.

Completely black.

Fuck.

Well, that pretty much answered that question.

"Haven't seen one as desperate as you for a while," she taunted, sauntering closer and walking around Justin, inspecting him closely.

Justin felt like he was being mentally dissected but forced himself not to step away, letting her have her fill. It seemed like a good idea not to piss off the evil being from Hell who could give him the only thing he wanted.

By the time she stopped walking, standing in front of him, she acted like she recognised him - something that was confirmed by her words a few moments later. "Twenty years gone," she said in a voice that was plainly a mockery of sadness.

He'd had enough of standing quietly. "We can make a deal, right? That's what you do. I ask for something, you give it to me, and when I die-"

"I get your soul," she confirmed, smirking darkly.

"Right," he whispered. Right. He licked his lips. "The demon that made me sleep. You can't make it...focus on someone else back then." It wasn't a question.

She didn't look happy about admitting there was something she couldn't do, but eventually she replied. "Influencing one of my own kind is not within my purview. There are rules I'm not willing to break for anyone's soul."

Not what he'd been wanting to hear, but what he'd been expecting. Okay. "What if I hadn't been there? What if - for whatever reason - I hadn't existed? Or I had, but I died soon after the demon found me? Would he just...move on to someone else, and everything would be okay? He'd still get the sleep energy or whatever the fuck it is he wants, right? He, it, wouldn't lose out on anything, so everything would still work out for you guys."

The demon had gone quiet, and from the look on her face she'd figured out what he was planning. "Twenty years found," she said slowly, an equally slow smile appearing on her face.

At least they were both on the same page. "Can you do it?"

"Of course I can," she retorted, and Justin wondered if all demons had her ego. "It's bigger than most requests but nothing I can't handle, and getting your soul so quickly will be *delightful*. So - think carefully," she purred, "do you know exactly where you want to go back to?"

It was all he'd thought about on the drive here. "Yes."

"Good. Keep that in your mind." Tipping her head to one side, she regarded him closely. "Do we have a deal?"

A loud click surprised both of them, making then turn to see that someone else was now standing next to them, holding a gun to her head.

"No you *fucking* don't."

This could not be happening. Justin stared at him in disbelief. "Brian?"

The demon didn't seem impressed. "Is this supposed to be a trap, Brian?" she asked, nodding towards the gun. "Because that won't kill me."

"No, but it'll sting like fuck," Brian grinned mercilessly. "Lovely to see you again."

"Did you *follow* me?" Justin demanded hotly. Unfuckingbelievable.

Brian glanced at him briefly, before focusing back on the demon. "Marilyn gave me a call. You always were a stupid little twat. Selling your soul, Justin?"

"Like you're any different!" he argued, knowing that Brian had to have been at least relatively nearby to get there so quickly. "Tell me that you didn't stand here and try to do the *exact same thing*."

But he couldn't, and they all knew it.

When Brian had nothing to say, Justin tipped his chin up. "I have every right to be as much of a dumb ass as you."

Brian's lips twitched.

"This is *my* choice," Justin continued, "and you have no right to take it away from me."

Hand tightening on the gun, Brian breathed in and out heavily for a few seconds before cursing and turning away. "Fuck!"

The demon still looked distinctly unimpressed. "Are we doing this or not? I have someone I could be filleting."

"We are," Justin said, beginning to brush by her to get to Brian. "Just let me-"

"No," her voice was dark, and angry, and an unbelievably strong hand wrapped around his arm and held him in place. When he looked up at her face her eyes were black again. "If you're going to stand here wasting my time, I want assurances. I want the words."

Yes. Of course she did. For a moment he'd almost forgotten who he was dealing with. Forcing himself to meet her black eyes squarely, he spoke. "We have a deal."

As soon as he said the words Brian cursed again, loudly, and the demon's eyes instantly looked normal again. "I'll let you have your little farewell," she said, releasing his arm, "just don't take too long."

He took off at a sprint, catching up with Brian who'd started walking away. "Brian-"

"Do you have *any* idea what I've been through for the past twenty years?" Brian swung around, yelling. "The things I've done. The things I've seen. But it was for *you*," he spat at Justin, "it was always..." Brian swayed, falling to his knees.

Justin went with him, his arms going around him. "Brian!"

"You were going to wake up," Brian breathed, eyes wet. "With or without me, you were going to be here. It was all for fucking *you*."

"I know, I know," Justin tried to hush him, eyes wet with his own tears. "I love you, Brian - so much. That's why I have to do this. You won't...remember this. Any of this. You won't have to go through these twenty years the way you did. Your son will still be alive. Gus. Think about Gus. Knowing I could save him - I don't have any fucking choice! You could be...happy, Brian." God, right now he wanted that more than anything in the world.

"Happy?" he mocked, fixing Justin with an angry stare. "You'll be dead."

Justin sniffed. "But Gus will *live*. And you'll never know anything about this life, and the things like her. I'm not saying you'll be spinning cartwheels, but...after you grieve..."

"You think I'll ever stop?"

Why did Brian have to pick this as one of the only times in his life to be completely honest and open about his feelings? "Look, the situation is shitty any way you look at it. If I do nothing, Gus is dead, you've lived an unbelievably shitty twenty years, and you'll probably end up getting murdered by something that goes bump in the night. It's a miracle you've stayed alive this long. But...if I do this, Gus *lives*. You'll have a shitty few years and...maybe you'll never get over me," he tried to sound cocky, make a joke of it, but it wasn't working. "Maybe you'll spiral into a depression. Maybe you'll learn to live with it. Maybe you'll cope better than you think. And hopefully you'll die at the ripe old age of a hundred and two with your Viagra-powered dick up some twink's ass. You know they won't be able to resist you, even then," Justin managed a watery smile, and thought he saw one in return. "I never could."

"Time's up."

They both looked up to see the demon standing over them, completely unmoved by anything they'd been saying. It was almost dark.

Helping Brian to his feet, Justin threw his arms around him for the last time.

For the last time.

He'd made the deal. There was no getting out of it, now.

What the fuck was he *doing*? He'd made a deal with the devil and he was going to *die* and go to *hell* and-

"Brian!"

"It's okay, Sunshine," Brian shushed, and he'd always known how to use the right tone of voice or hold Justin in the right way to calm him down. And he may have been fifty-seven but he still felt like Brian; still smelt like him. In every essential way he was the same man he'd been twenty years ago.

Was the man Justin was doing this for.

Brian would be okay. Gus would be okay. That was all that mattered.

"You were wrong, you know."

"About what?" Justin sniffed, rubbing the side of his face against Brian's beard.

"There won't be any other twinks. Now, or at a hundred and two. You're it for me. You always were."

Shuddering, Justin stared at the sky over Brian's shoulder. "Night's coming."

Brian squeezed him tighter. "It's okay," he said softly. "I'm here. Close your eyes."

Taking a deep breath, Justin did just that.

*

THEN, REDUX

*

He almost drove off the road when he realised he was driving a car in the middle of the night. Trying to reorient himself without getting hit by anything, he did a quick visual inspection. This was his piece of shit car - without any dashboard enhancements or comfortable seats. He was wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the last time he'd headed for New York from Brian's. And his ass had that feeling it only ever had when Brian had been inside him recently.

Fuck. It'd worked. He was really *here*.

Justin's mind was all over the place, and he was almost too fucking grateful when he saw a sign for an upcoming rest stop. He could've pulled over on the shoulder, but didn't want to risk being seen by any passing cops.

He managed to keep it together for the next few minutes, mostly by thinking of nothing at all, focusing only on the technical movements of driving.

When he turned off the Turnpike and found a parking space, Justin put on the handbrake, turned off the engine and sat quietly for a few moments. Taking a breath, he forced his head up and looked around, recognising exactly where he was now, the gas station and fast food places eerily familiar. He'd driven the route from Pittsburgh to New York enough times. He - or the original him, anyway - had left Brian less than an hour ago.

His eyes fell to the cell phone sitting on the passenger seat - where he always left it when he was driving. And almost without thinking he had the phone in his hand and his fingers finding the first number he'd ever programmed into it.

When he picked up, Brian's voice was warm, teasing. "You miss my cock already?"

Swallowing hard, Justin could picture exactly how Brian must look in that moment - still laying in their rumpled bed, warm, relaxed, a small smile on his face that wasn't as rare as everyone thought. Nothing at all like the man he'd been twenty years from now. Overcoming the uncomfortable lump in his throat, he managed to force a word out. "Brian..."

A pause on the other end of the line - and then:

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Justin lied, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. "I just..." He had to say something. Something that had *meaning* because this was the last conversation they were ever going to have. "I was just thinking, and..." he took a shaky breath. "You know you're it for me, don't you?"

Brian's breath sounded heavy over the phone. "Justin, what the fuck are you-?"

"You're *it*," he interrupted, because it was just like Brian to not shut up and just listen when Justin was trying to talk to him for the last time. "I know...even now...with all the shit you went through as a kid, everything you've been through as an adult..." Justin's voice drifted off as a few drops of rain started to splatter on the windshield.

Just like it did the first time.

"...when I fucked up and left you for Ethan," he continued quickly, "fuck, even our age differences. Sometimes you think I'll move on. To someone else. Something else. Something better. But there is nothing better," Justin insisted, "not for me. You can make me more fucking angry than anyone in the entire fucking world, you're seriously fucking messed up - but so am I, Brian. What I want," Justin paused when his voice broke. It was getting harder and harder to get coherent words out. "What I want more than anything in the world is to live out the rest of my life with you." God, this was so fucking unfair. "And none of this different cities shit. As long as we're together the way we're supposed to be, I don't care where the fuck we live. You're it," he finally finished, feeling breathless and out of control. "You're it for me."

Brian was silent for a long time. Until...

"You're freaking me the fuck out."

Justin laughed, or tried to. It came out sounding suspiciously like something else. "It's okay," he lied, and he had a feeling they both knew it. "Everything's okay. I was just thinking about it and I needed to talk to you. Before you went to sleep. You know what a princess I can be," he tried to tease.

"Maybe you should come back," Brian suggested, clearly confused and worried, and Justin didn't even need to close his eyes to picture himself in the rumpled bed next to Brian, laughing and smiling, his mind full of a thousand memories of a thousand nights of doing exactly that.

That was the image he was going to take with him.

"I love you," he rasped, abruptly ending the call and throwing the phone into the back seat. Fuck, the call had been a bad idea. When Brian heard the news and remembered the call...but, no, no. He'd be fucked up for a while. But he wouldn't know anything about demons or hunting - would never know anything about demons or hunting. Gus wouldn't be killed.

By now the rain had transformed into a constant drumming on the roof and windshield of his car. Starting the engine, Justin turned on the wipers. Gripping the steering wheel of the car, he sat there, staring through the rain at misshapen colours and lights, until the ringing of his cell phone prompted him into action.

Traffic was still light so he pulled back onto the Turnpike without a problem. Sniffing heavily, his face a mess of tears and snot, for a moment Justin struggled to breath through the clawing emotion in his throat. This was not the way things were supposed to be! He should have a thousand - a million - more nights with Brian. This'd all happened so fucking fast, and they were supposed to be happy in their own fucked-up way forever.

But then he thought about Brian. And Gus. And what would happen if he didn't do this - two lives destroyed, really. More, with what it did to Mel and Linds. This had to happen now, before the demon really got a hold of him, before Brian ever heard anything about Justin not sleeping well.

It wasn't the way things were supposed to be, but the way things had to be. This was the only time, the only way, he would never go back to Brian.

No choice.

Shifting in his seat, opening and closing his fingers on the steering wheel, Justin sniffed again and held an image in his mind.

Turned off the wipers.

Unbuckled his seat belt.

Put his foot down on the gas.

And closed his eyes.

~FINIS


End file.
